Save Me Save You
by sweet-and-simple
Summary: AU When everyone left Dean behind, there was no one to turn to.  Not until Michael.  Now Dean's trapped in a relationship that's abusive and cruel.  Can his new friends and long-lost brother save him? Michael/Dean Castiel/Dean Gabriel/Sam VIOLENCE
1. Prologue: Meet the Fallen

What Dean had been, it hadn't been _weak_. He had never been _weak_, he had been _strong_. When people had needed him, he was there. Whatever he had been needed for, he could do it. Sure, he had had an attitude and manner to him that some people didn't like, but, damn, he had been his town's superhero. The best part about it had been that they never saw him break down, because he had been _smart_ like that. People, they didn't take well to seeing their leader turn into a sissy.

And people had needed him to be strong. His little brother, Sammy, who grew up and went off to Stanford (he was smart as _fuck_), had needed him most. But then he had left. Then there had been Jo and Ellen down at the bar who had him pick up odd hours for them. But then they'd died at the jaws of a rabid hound. Neither of them had been able to react fast enough, though Ellen had been killed dragging that damned dog down with her.

Chuck had needed him, once upon a time, to spin ideas off of for his series of books called 'Supernatural'. But then he had just disappeared one day, never to be seen again. Not a note left behind, not one sign of a struggle, and he hadn't taken anything with him. There had been a word document open on his computer and a half-empty glass of scotch next to the keyboard, as if he had intended to come right back.

Adam, the younger half-brother he hadn't even known he had had, was killed in a sicko cannibalistic home invasion with his mother. Dean hadn't known him well, but he'd still been broken when he realized the truth. Big brothers should always protect their little brothers. Always.

Bobby, the man who had practically raised him and Sam like his own, got included in an accident that forced him into a wheelchair. Some months later, he committed suicide. A note on his desk had read: _'To whatever idjit gets to me first,_

_Nothin' personal. Just thought I'd get to walk around in Heaven… or wherever the hell I'm goin'._

_Bobby'_

His little brother's fiancé, he had failed her too. She was murdered in her apartment, a victim to a brutal rape and homicide. He knew he had been too far away to actually do anything – them being about three states away – but he had known that it was still his fault.

Big brothers should protect their little brothers. Always.

Sam had disappeared off the map after that, dropping college and everything else without telling anyone what he had been planning to do.

What Dean had been hadn't been _weak_. He had been… he had been _desperate_. He had looked around himself and realized that he was a curse. Everyone he ever loved left him in the end. He had been alone. And he had been both frantic to stay that way and to never be alone again.

Then _he_ had stepped into his life, a glorious golden man with swirling tawny eyes and he had driven Dean to his knees with need and hope and so many other emotions.

Dean had been too broken to realize that his tawny eyes had been cruel and hard. "Hello," the man had said when he had come into the bar Dean had taken over for Ellen and Jo, as stated in their will. Just like Bobby had left him his scavenge yard. "My name is Michael." He had looked right through Dean to what his needs had been, like a predator to a weakness, and he had boldly overtaken Dean, destroying his spirit with one swift attack. "And, for as long as I want you, I will never leave you."

~ :: ~

'_Ring, ring, ring… Ring, ring, ring…'_

Dean limped as fast as he could to catch the phone before it stopped going off. He grimaced with every step he took.

He would have to remember not to piss off Michael while standing at the top of the stairs. Or anywhere, for that matter.

Sadly, his limp made him miss the call by one single tone.

Zachariah's voice came on the messaging machine. _"Michael, if you're playing with your little one right now, I _beg_ you to stop. I thought you understood how important tonight was? Ruby has been asking for this, a long time incoming, and if she doesn't get the message _now_… well, I don't know when we'll next get the chance."_ He hung up.

Dean didn't question what exactly they were going to do to this 'Ruby' chic. Whatever it was, it would most likely be very unpleasant. He did briefly wonder what she had done to piss off Michael and his gang of self-righteous bast – …

He looked carefully around him before finishing that thought. Michael didn't like it when he insulted his gang. Even when Dean did no more than think about it, he seemed to know.

Luckily, his Master wasn't present.

Maybe he was still sleeping. If that was the case, he would most likely want breakfast ready when he got up.

So Dean got to work on that. His cooking skills hadn't been great before meeting the gang leader. He had lived off of diners and restaurants, so he hadn't thought it important to learn. Like with most things, Michael had taught him otherwise.

Just as he pushed the last sunny-side-up egg onto his Master's plate, the golden-haired figure appeared in the kitchen. Already, he was dressed in misleadingly casual clothes. Dean knew for a fact that they were all brand names, no matter how worn out they appeared. Michael's self-importance wouldn't let him wear anything from the second-hand store or Wal-Mart.

Sometimes, it wasn't such a bad thing. Sometimes, he didn't like Dean dressing from the second-hand store or Wal-Mart either. If that was the case, he took Dean out shopping and Dean could get some gentle treatment. Because Michael didn't hurt him in public.

Michael sniffed the air delicately, eyes sliding in their sockets to pin Dean down where he stood. "You didn't cook the eggs long enough."

The Winchester flinched. Of course he hadn't. To him, they looked perfect – possibly the most perfect thing he had ever cooked. But he wouldn't know, would he? Michael knew best, not him…

He swallowed back the defiance that was always just there in the tension of his shoulders and nodded like the good little bitch he was. Now that he was looking at the eggs, he could see that they were a little soupy… maybe… "Yes…"

"Yes, what?"

"… Yes, Master."

"Don't bother making them again," Michael went on, pulling on his sneakers. Again, they looked deceptively cheap. Again, they cost more money than Dean could make in a night at the bar. "I'm going out." His eyes found Dean again, turning him to cold stone. "Don't leave the house."

He stared down at the eggs. The longer he stared at them, the waterier they got, so, yeah, as it turned out, Michael always _was_ right.

His master took long strides toward him, snatching him by his throat in a suffocating grip and tilting his face upwards. "Don't leave this house," he repeated softly, lips unbearably close to his.

He had to say it. Like a good little soldier, a good little cock-slut. "Yes, Master."

"Yes, Master, what?"

"I won't leave the house, Master."

"When will you be allowed to leave this house, little one?"

"Not till you tell me to, Master."

Michael pressed a brief, hard kiss to Dean's mouth, eyes at half-mast. "Good boy. I'll be back soon, don't worry. Would I ever leave you alone for long?"

No, he wouldn't. The longest Michael had ever left him alone in their two years was nine hours and that had been after Michael had sent him off to bed. Whenever Dean was awake, he was gone at the longest for five hours, sometimes five and a half. Even when Dean was working, whether at Bobby's or Ellen's, Michael would keep him company.

The reminder of Michael's loyalty killed the rebellion he felt in his heart, reminding him that he really had no right to deny the other's abuse. Michael could leave anytime he wanted. But he stayed.

That was more than Dean could have ever asked for.

As his Master left, Dean cleaned up the kitchen and then repaired the steps from his last night's fall. Then he changed the sheets on their bed 'cause there was nothing else better to do and he didn't really like the blankets being so sticky and bloody and – if he had had it in him, he would have gone outside to burn them.

Instead, he threw them in the washer and turned it on scolding hot.

He wasn't allowed out of the house anyway.

~ :: ~

Everyone had always told him that he had a good heart. They said he would do great and wonderful things, things that everyone in the world would remember him for. He would be an inspiration. He would be irreplaceable to planet Earth.

He wondered just how close they would consider their visions to his reality.

In his career, he had saved over one hundred and thirteen lives. He only knew that because his superior, Gabriel Loki, reminded him of it every so often. When he thought of numbers and his job at the same time, the only thing that came to mind was thirty-two.

Thirty-two people had died because he hadn't been fast enough. Smart enough, resourceful enough, strong enough… they died at sea and he would be dragged back into the overseeing helicopter empty handed.

Being part of the Coastal Guard wasn't that great. At one point, he had thought it would be worth it. Dropping college and letting go of his social life, knowing ahead of time that he would have no one… he had mindlessly dropped himself into training and had then thrown himself into the shrieking metal birds of the sky only to cascade into freezing waters. Burning ships, drowning men, overturned rafts, and punctured lifeboats…

All of those horrific images were flashing behind his eyelids as he popped a few more pain meds, just wanting to dull the memories. They were painful, so weren't the meds supposed to help? Numb it, drown it, kill it, just like the sea had done to the thirty-two people who hadn't survived?

He was part of the SAR, 'Search And Rescue'. He fearlessly dove into raging waters and shrill winds, just to save the lives of others. And it sounded heroic and important, like those he saved would always remember him and he would grow to be a folklore god, the thing myths were made of. Except it was nightmarish and, most times, he had to ponder whether or not it was worth it.

Thirty-two… Thirty-two people of which he had had to make the personal decision to leave behind. Some of them hadn't even been dead yet. They had looked at him with dazed, hopeless eyes. Deep in their souls, they had been wishing he would drag them to safety. Sometimes, it wasn't that easy. Choices had to be made. Storms weren't that cooperative to let him save everyone. Neither were the sinking ships.

When he was up in that helicopter looking down, he was an angel to the rescue. The moment he plunged into the water, he was fallen.

And he always fell so damn hard.

He chased down the pills with some hard alcohol, blaming the sting of tears on its strong aroma. He stared at the bulletin board across from him.

There were thirty-two faces on it.

~ :: ~

Michael had been testing him again.

He did that sometimes. He just wanted to make sure that Dean still had what he wanted, which was complete submission to his will.

He kept Dean locked up in their house for three days before he let him out. The Winchester didn't complain about how the sun prickled his cold skin or how it burned his green gaze. He didn't whine about how he couldn't stand being confined for so long.

He had had worse. One time, last year, Michael had tied him down to the bed and left him there for a week. That had been the ugliest week of his life. Why? 'Cause Michael hadn't let him off the mattress for anything, and though he had kept him company as such promised, he had never cared for Dean's needs.

He had starved that week. He became dehydrated and he had lain in his own filth.

So, for the sake of that week, he didn't say a thing as Michael graciously returned his limited freedom to him.

Dean just wanted to open the bar. Maybe he could even work on the Impala back at Bobby's yard. Yeah, it was the same Impala his dad had ridden, but it was Dean's baby now and he wanted to give her a few tune-ups and maybe a new paint job. She'd like that.

Bobby would have approved and Sam would have helped. He wasn't sure what John, his dad, would have thought. He most likely would have been too drunk to even think.

Dean didn't say any of that either. Michael didn't like him having a car, he felt that that was an invitation for Dean to leave anytime he wanted. So they had had to compromise.

Dean got to keep the car, but there was no gas in the tank. A gleaming hunk of beauty that he couldn't even drive. But he'd rather that than have his Master swear him off the Impala entirely.

He took the bar first, flipping over the sign on the door to 'OPEN'. Despite his absence and the strange hour, people weren't too far behind him and they trickled into the tavern. They didn't ask where he had been and he didn't say anything about it.

The Dean who had been strong wasn't with them anymore. And they, so different from what he had once been, weren't going to sacrifice themselves to save him. They all knew something was wrong, it wasn't like Dean could cover up all the bruises or stop wincing at the slightest movements. They couldn't always ignore how he flinched when someone shifted a certain way or when they spoke in a soft, low voice.

They have met Michael, though, and Michael had a way with words that could defeat the most stubborn of minds.

So Dean's scrubbing glasses behind the counter while they're ignoring his shattered being to revel in _finally_ having the bar open again. Some of them even looked accusingly at Dean, like it's _his_ fault that they were denied beer and roughhousing.

Maybe it was. He'd be hard pressed to believe them unless his Master told him directly, though.

He did his job for two hours, three hours, four hours… five hours, six hours…

By the seventh hour, he was shaking uncontrollably. A glass slid from his unsure fingers and splintered into a thousand pieces on the tiled floor. His throat felt too tight, all muscles in his body constricting.

No Michael. No Michael, _where was Michael_?

Eight hours, nine hours… He was having a panic attack, telling one of the patrons to take over for him behind the bar. It was a small town, he trusted the man to not steal from the register. He knew he'd do the job right.

Dean just wasn't sure of himself, that was all. He was shaking so bad, like he was having a withdrawal, and his body hurt, hurt because of tension and fear and how hard Michael had fucked him that morning and the night before.

He wanted to hide but then, what if Michael came? His Master wouldn't be able to find him.

He finally decided on getting some fresh air out back 'because Michael always came through the back door and no one else ever did. He crouched down on the gravel and he hyperventilated, black tinting his vision. His fingers speared through his cropped brunette hair and he keened a sound awfully like an animal in great distress.

Nine hours, ten hours… the bar was only getting rowdier behind him, more customers filtering in and the counter changing hands a few times.

He was alone. But Michael had said… he had promised…

And then he realized his mistake. He hadn't made Michael _want_ him enough. If Michael wanted him, he'd stay. He would never leave, not unless Dean did something to kill his interest.

Maybe… Maybe Michael had been testing him earlier, when he had let Dean outside. Like a dog. He had let him outside and now he was waiting to see if he'd come back home.

…

He needed to close the bar anyway.

_Author's Notes: This will be a multi-chapter story. Expect it to get more fucked up and even stranger._


	2. Chapter 1: First Contact

He collapsed somewhere between a bar and a pharmacy. He wasn't sure where exactly he wanted to go first, he just knew that his body had finally shut down on him.

He couldn't remember the last time he had gotten a good night's rest. If he was even more honest with himself, he couldn't remember the last time he even blinked.

He stared up at the cloudy sky with dry blue eyes, wide awake even though his body was completely drained of energy. He just… he just couldn't _sleep_. It wasn't even that he was on the sidewalk, about a half mile away from his apartment.

He tried to shut his eyes, but they wouldn't cooperate. He was afraid of the darkness behind his eyelids. He was terrified of what he would see in the shadows of his mind. And that fear, that terror, overrode everything else.

The bar's door opened and shut, the sound of keys jiggling reaching him. A pause.

And then a man walked right past him, head turned towards the street away from him.

He wanted to be angry. He risked his life almost everyday at sea to save people and yet he was ignored in his time of need? What, did he look homeless? Did he look too needy to help, like he would take advantage of whatever aide he was given? He knew his trench coat wasn't the cleanest, but that didn't officially make him a charity case to be politely ignored.

But he couldn't get angry. The man, he wasn't just looking towards the street, he was looking down. He was broad, yet he hunched into himself, a limp in his step. There were bruises on his right triceps, like someone had forcefully grabbed him some days ago.

He couldn't get angry because he was looking at another broken man. But this one… he wasn't losing anyone else's life. He was losing his own.

He could see it, right there in his body language as he walked by. At some point, he thought that maybe the stranger would have stopped to help him, had it been a different time or under different influences. Maybe he'd be passionate about it, like Castiel had once been.

Right now, though, he wasn't fierce or helpful. It was their time, same influences, both past and present and maybe some future, and they couldn't turn back the clock to change that.

The stranger trudged past him, the embodiment of a shattered spirit.

He couldn't hold it against him to leave him behind.

Except, just before he turned the corner, he looked back.

He had never before seen such green eyes. Even in the dark of the late night (or was it early morning?), with only the few street lamps to light the way, he could tell their hue from where he lied. They glistened and glowed a deep, deep green.

Yes, that stranger had once been a very passionate man. He could see it in the man's eyes. But he could also see the scars there, crisscrossing and swarming till they were lifeless with loss.

He wondered just how powerful the stranger's gaze would be if he hadn't been broken, like a stallion forced to be a mount. Not tamed or understood, but just saddled and ridden till he had lost the will to fight and just did as he was told.

He saw those green, green eyes for just a moment, a moment that felt to him like an eternity, and then the stranger swiveled around, curled deeper into himself, and turned the corner.

No one found him till two hours later.

~ :: ~

He saw the bluest eyes ever. They were encompassing, dark and pale at the same time. Through the distance and blackness between them, he had been able to discern the cerulean shades of the stranger's piercing gaze.

And not piercing like Michael's either, though just as all-knowing. No, his eyes, they hadn't struck the slightest fear in Dean or even the smallest urge to submit or revolt or do both at the same time. They had seen him, looked into him, and he had known that he had had no secrets. Not from that man, the stranger who had been on the ground near his bar.

A large part of him that had once been strong had told him to help that man. Wasn't that the kind of person he was, no matter the years of torment?

And then he had remembered Michael, his Master, and his entire being had let loose a dying groan as he had turned away.

He had to get to Michael.

He had to forget those eyes, too. Or else Michael would know that he was thinking of another man and that his heart was going unusually fast. He would know that, for a moment, Dean had fantasized about helping the man.

A small, small part of him had even envisioned kissing the whiskery-chinned fellow.

He had to hope that Michael wouldn't catch that thought above all the other thoughts.

When he got home, his Master was in the bedroom. He was strewn naked across the bed and a girl was bound to the bed next to him, hot fury and shame in her features. She was naked, covered in bruises, blood, and semen.

Michael introduced her as Ruby. Dean vaguely remembered her from the messaging machine some days ago. She must have been a good hider, if she was only now getting her the punishment meant for her.

And then Uriel and Zachariah came out of the bathroom. One of them took Ruby out and Dean heard her scream before an eerie silence descended.

Michael stretched and sat up in the bed. Uriel and Zachariah waited patiently at his side. Because Michael was their leader and they were just like Dean, even if they thought they weren't.

They were all Michael's bitches.

"Little one," his Master rumbled tonelessly, "pleasure us." Like he hadn't ignored Dean for over ten hours. Like foursomes was nothing.

Like Dean was his little marionette to control. But, wait…

He was.

He stripped and so did the two lackeys.

The rest of the night and morning, he carefully decided to blank out from his mind. The entire time, instead, he imagined blue, blue, _blue_ eyes.

Like the calm sea or the midnight sky with all the stars and moon illuminating the darkness. Like… like… _salvation_, maybe. Something that had burned itself right into Dean's very soul.

Michael must have somehow caught onto his disloyalty.

It would maybe take a month for the rope burns around his throat to heal.

~ :: ~

A week after the foursome, he opened the bar again.

No one asked about the marks. He didn't talk about them.

Michael came in after another three hours and he kept him company, winning over the crowds with his golden aura and his loving treatment of his gay, 'troubled' lover, as he liked to point out whenever he did a particularly bad job on Dean.

Everyone knew Dean wasn't one for self-mutilating. That didn't mean Michael couldn't sweet-talk them to think otherwise long enough to forget to report him. He stayed for about an hour and then he left, promising to come back around closing. Which, he was careful to add, soft and low, _would_ be at 2 at night _sharp_. Not a second later.

Dean had, in a whisper so no one would overhear, said, "Yes, Master."

The blue-eyed stranger came in sometime around midnight. He took a seat at the bar, stuck in a bubble of silence. Everyone around him seemed not to notice him, like he was invisible.

Frankly, Dean couldn't even take his eyes off him for three minutes at a time. Every time he looked up, the stranger was looking right back at him. That blue gaze, it was focused each time on a new cut or the burn marks. At one point, Dean looked over his shoulder to see the man eyeing his limp.

The time read 1:40 when he kicked out the patrons. He wanted to be gone by 2. No later than that. But there was still clean-up to do and he had to count the drawer… He had to go to the basement and restock on cups and bourbon.

Except the stranger was still in his seat as Dean turned away from the door, already locked. The stranger was freaky silent. For all his watching, how hadn't Dean figured out that he hadn't left?

The stranger, now the center of his complete attention with all other customers gone, slid off his stool and came right into his personal space. Dean pressed into the door behind him, terrified.

The stranger cupped his cheek, his palm and fingers callus. He said, voice rough and husky, like the perfect bedroom voice, "Hello, My name is Castiel."

He swallowed thickly, scared of this 'Castiel'. Just like Michael, he could destroy him in a second. He waited for it.

"I…" Castiel's eyes narrowed as he considered his next words carefully. "I want to…"

He waited on baited breath. He could be destroyed or remade. He could be anything or nothing, it all just depended on what was next to stumble over those firmly pressed lips.

Michael could be _damned_. If only Castiel would say something. If only Castiel would look at him with those blue, blue, _blue_ eyes and say something with that overpowering gaze. Like lust or want or need or love or anger or sorrow… anything.

There were thoughts boiling in their cerulean depths, so many thoughts and not all of them seeming to connect right.

"I want to tell you that your eyes are beautiful," he settled for finally. Dean went limp and Castiel looked away, obviously frustrated with himself. Some confidence must have been floating around in the air because he stood up a bit straighter, straighter than he had already been, and he met Dean's gaze again. The liquid state of his glower washed over Dean, making him weak, baring him and then cleaning him from the inside out. It was painful and suffocating to be on the other end of that stare, but he would give anything to not have to look away.

"And I think they would look so much more beautiful if they weren't broken." Castiel grinned slightly and the expression was so strained that Dean knew he wasn't the only broken one.

He wasn't sure why he let the man kiss him. Maybe it was because he was deceptively strong, so he had no choice? Maybe it was because of that first fantasy of a small, innocent kiss that would bloom into something not ugly or hurtful. No matter the reason why, he was doing it.

He was kissing Castiel back, the man's chapped lips on his and their tongues sought each other out with tentative licks and wet caresses. There was no battle for control, not even the slightest inkling of a fight as their mouths broke apart and then came back together.

"I want to save you," Castiel groaned as they parted again, eyes like burning blue fires and yet so still so very dead, "but you have to save me too."

It took him a moment to realize that all of his weight was balanced precariously on Castiel's thigh. He wasn't grinding down because, as much as he wanted the man, his body didn't want sex. "I can't… I don't…" How could he say that he couldn't save anyone? That that was actually how he got into this whole mess? "I can't," he choked eventually.

"You can. You just have to stop me, Dean, that's all you have to do."

How did Castiel know his name? Oh, right, he'd been in the bar the entire night. More than one person had called for the bartender by name.

Wait… "Stop you… from what?"

The man reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a bottle of pain meds, a small baggy of coke, and a packet of Ecstasy. He put these all in Dean's hand and the Winchester couldn't even bring himself to be disgusted that he was dealing with a druggy.

He was so much lower than Castiel still. The man would never fall as low as Dean had.

He looked up into blue eyes carefully. "Why?"

"Thirty-two."

"Thirty-two?"

"Lives I will never get the chance of saving again."

The clock above the booths said he had five minutes before Michael would be waiting for him.

He grabbed Castiel's hand and forced himself to stand. With eyes trained on the blue-eyed stranger (was he still a stranger?), Dean led him to the woman's bathroom.

It was cleaner than the guy's, though still just narrowly acceptable. He threw in the packet and baggy, then emptied the bottle into the toilet.

They both watched it all swirl away.

By the time Michael came by, Castiel had already snuck Dean out through the front door, his trench coat stretched to enfold the younger man like a wing.

They watched on the news as Ellen's bar, the _Harvelle's Roadhouse_, burned to the ground the very next morning.

Castiel held Dean as he cried.

He wasn't strong enough to get angry yet. Only desperate.


	3. Chapter 2: Involving Others

"Mr. Loki here, tell me your dreams and I'll be sure to mail them to Thor."

"_Gabriel."_

One word. The honey-haired man grinned. Still, he knew exactly who it was. Who else was so straightforward with such a husky voice? "Yes, Cassy?"

"_Don't call me that."_

Some relief breathed life into his old soul. The last time he had called Castiel that, it hadn't warranted a reaction. No, the SAR officer had been too hyped up on painkillers to even notice that Gabriel had been there. "Anything you happen to want or are you just calling to say hi?"

"_I would… I would like my vacation now."_

What Cassy didn't know was that he was already on it. Two weeks into it, actually. That's okay, though, Gabriel had figured he'd give Castiel a month at most. He'd never taken a sick day before and he was definitely one of the most hardworking officers Gabriel had ever had to deal with. "Sure, Cassy –"

"_Don't call me –"_

"I'll want you back by the first of October."

"… _Thank you, Gabriel." _There was some background noise, an agonized scream like something off of a horror movie. The line was muffled, most likely by Castiel's hand, but he heard the officer's shushes anyway.

Judging by the tone of Cassy's voice and how the scream reduced to whimpers before becoming a sleepy grumble, Gabe could guess that someone had just woken up from a pretty bad nightmare. Except it couldn't have been Cassy, he was the one on the phone, so who?

He puckered his lips as he pondered the both dark and yet juicy mystery. For one, that was obviously a very haunted soul. But… he was pretty sure that that scream had something to do with Castiel's vacation.

He would have to go down and check that out, wouldn't he? "Cassy, anything you want to tell me?"

This time, Castiel didn't correct him. "Nothing." He was too quick to respond. "I will return by the first of October." Then he hung up.

Gabriel put the phone down for a second, stuck in awed silence.

And then he called home, waiting on giddy nerves for his lover to pick up.

"_Hello?" _his lover yawned on the other end, adorably tired and obviously just out of bed. Maybe not even out of it, maybe he was still beneath the covers where Gabriel had left him after three hours of very, _very_ fulfilling sex. That would mean that he was naked, Gabe's spunk dried between his thighs, and his moose-y angel would have _bed hair_.

The vision was so powerful, Gabriel drooled on his desk. "I need you."

There was a groan. _"Gabe, I love you and all, but can't you just, y'know, _sleep_ like everyone else in the world?"_

"As much as I would love to need you _that way_ right now – which, actually, I _do_ – that's not what I'm talking to."

God bless his boytoy, but he felt his lover become serious over the phone. _"Gabe, is everything okay?"_

"You said you were born in Lawrence, Kansas, right?"

There was a tense pause, one that he knew for a fact harbored many beautiful and terrible memories.

"You mind going there with me?"

He believed for a complete ten seconds that his lover would deny him. His giant-sized sweetheart had a _thing_ against going anywhere near the state of Kansas. There was something there that he was avoiding and had been for the past two and a half years.

And then, _"O-Okay… but, when we get there, there's, uh, something I have to do…" _

"Okie dokie, kiddo." He sensed that he was about to be hung up on. "Wait!"

A heavy sigh answered him. _"What now? Please don't tell me you want me to make you some of those pancakes for when you get home…"_

"No, no, nothing like that… okay, that _would_ be awesome, though – and if you truly love me, maybe you'd like to do that for me… but, no, that wasn't what I was going for."

There was shuffling and he knew that his lover boy was out of bed, hopefully heading towards the kitchen. The sound of the shower being turned on disappointed him. _"Okay, I'll do that… first, just let me clean off."_

He grinned triumphantly. "Sammy boy, I just wanted to tell you that I love you." He made kissy noises into the mouthpiece. "I want to be there with you right now, making sweet, _sweet_ love to you…"

His lover rumbled out a chuckle. _"I love you too, Gabe."_

They hung up and he reveled in the victory of his love life.

Two and a half years ago when he had first met Sam, a kid doing part time at a garage in town, he had been a bitter man with a gun in the waistband of his jeans. Their relationship had been trial after trial, the first one actually being getting Sam to _trust_ him. The second had been getting Sam back into law school and then getting Sam to love him a little more than a friend.

The first night they had had sex, Gabe had felt both blessed and terrified. As much as he liked his lovers big, a part of him had been intimidated by having Sammy spread out on his bed, waiting for him. Though more of him had been damned turned on. But then a small part of him had been fully aware that Sam had had a knife by the bed the entire time.

Here he was nearly three years later, though, and Sam was admitting his love to him. Oh, yeah, life was great.

Life was beautiful.

~ :: ~

Castiel and Dean lied down in bed, not having sex but just holding each other.

Dean had covered the bulletin board the moment he saw it, as if he just _knew_ it meant something terrible. And he had flushed all the pills and powders he had found in Castiel's apartment down the toilet, met only with compliance on the officer's part.

When he had finally stopped, he had taken a nap. Meanwhile, Castiel had made his call.

Dean had woken up with a scream.

Now they were facing each other, unwilling to let go. Demons were riding them like they were whores, faces behind both their eyes, and they couldn't go to sleep.

Dean softly admitted that he hadn't gone to sleep without Michael, his 'Master', since having first met him two years ago. Castiel admitted that he had insomnia.

They stayed together in silence. Castiel's marine blue quilt was pulled over them, both of them naked. They knew nothing was going to happen, they didn't plan on letting anything happen, not yet. But their hands occasionally got curious and it was a surprisingly warm night for mid-September to begin with, so they stripped and huddled together.

Castiel stroked his hands across scarred skin, both of them marred, and lulled Dean eventually into sleep. He didn't wake back up and his face remained relaxed, only as long as Castiel rubbed his left shoulder. It was strange, but anywhere else and Dean would begin to whimper and his muscles would twitch, like he wanted to move but knew better than to do so.

Castiel wrapped his hand loosely around Dean's bicep, a brief image in his mind of having his handprint tattooed there. That way, Dean would never be afraid again. Castiel's hand would always be there, soothing him. A permanent part of him.

Lost in Dean and how to keep his promise, he hadn't realized he hadn't spared a thought to the number thirty-two or what it entailed. He blinked, slowly but surely, and then he blinked again.

This time, though, he didn't open his eyes again.

They laid there, Dean in the depths of Castiel's embrace like he's a shield and Castiel holding on to Dean like a lifeline. They slept.

~ :: ~

Sam had left Gabriel at the hotel room, needing to do this alone.

He just… he had never meant to… he _wanted_…

Dean was his big brother. He deserved an explanation… No, not that, Dean most likely already knew why he had left. He had needed to find Jess's killer, it had been more important to him than his own life and even Dean's and that…

It wasn't something he could apologize for. On top of finding Jess's killer (though he had been less than pleased with the outcome. He had wanted to kill that bastard, rip him to shreds and make him experience Jess's pain. But the lawyer in him had instead turned him into the police to be judged as the culprit in multiple other rapes and murders), Gabriel had found him. That wasn't something he would ever undo.

But Dean… he had left Dean behind, left him in the dark. He had never called or mailed or even _emailed_. Two words, all he had ever had to say were two words: _I'm okay_. Yet he had said nothing. He had left Dean alone and…

Not until Gabe had told him he was coming here had Sam worked up the courage to finally admit his mistake. Was it too late to be forgiven? Was it too late to get back into Dean's life?

He had been drowning in all of these insecurities since getting on the plane in. He'd been so obsessed, he hadn't even noticed the pitying gazes of the townspeople.

He'd been so worried, he hadn't even realized that Dean's prized Impala was a skeleton of its previous glory right off the porch. Then again, Dean wouldn't have even recognized the heap of warped metal.

The door opened slowly and behind it was a stranger. He was about a six inches shorter than Sam and, judging by how he looked up at Sammy, he didn't like that.

Sam took a step back. His lawyer senses were tingling.

Something wasn't right here. Well, aside from the fact that there was a complete _stranger_ in his big brother's house. "Who are you?" he growled at the golden-haired man, feeling the muscles in his back bunch with tension.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yeah, I _would_," he growled. Something bad was about to happen, he could feel it, the bad feeling was choking him. "And I'd like to know what the hell you're doing in my brother's house."

The stranger opened the door further and behind him were three men. Two of them were black and the last one was balding and chubby.

Sam clenched and unclenched his hands at his sides. He was strong, definitely. And he was big. But there were four of them and one of him. Not only that, but they were looking and standing like they knew what they were doing. Not just like they _thought_ they knew what they were doing, but they had built up experience to be certified killers. And they had guns.

"Why don't you come in and find out for yourself, Sam Winchester?"

~ :: ~

He woke up alone, a message on the bedside counter saying that Sam had gone out and wouldn't be back for awhile. He'd call Gabe when he was coming back.

It was signed: _Love you, Gabe_, and even through the careful, neat writing, he could feel Sammy's nervousness of the message through his letter. So shy, his moose-y lover. He grinned and kissed the note, rolling back over in bed.

He was aware of the fact that he should be in a hurry, but, really? How good would he be in a possibly dangerous situation if he was half-asleep and craving sweets?

Humming, he settled right back into the soft-as-marshmallows bed.

It was about three in the afternoon when he finally went out looking for Cassy. What? He just couldn't be pressured into getting up in the morning, no matter the circumstance.

Gabriel found Castiel's apartment with minimal trouble. Supplied with an extra key, he let himself in, whistling a soft tune beneath his breath.

Full of gusto, he swept into the small space, throwing his arms out wide like he wanted to embrace the world. "Cassy, I've come for you!"

Except as Gabriel was saying that he was winding deeper into the room. There was an incomplete wall between the living room and what appeared to be the bedroom, one he didn't think to not go through.

On the mattress he discovered his officer and a blonde wrapped around each other like they were one another's only defense against Hell. The blonde was pressed into Cassy's chest, like he was trying to hide in his heart, and Castiel was holding Dean as tightly as a lost child would hold a teddy bear. No matter what angle he looked at it, they both looked broken.

Gabe almost considered walking away. He couldn't remember the last time Castiel had slept.

Then again, if he was sleeping now, that meant he could sleep _later_.

He leapt onto the bed and bounced up and down. "Wakey, Cassy, wakey, Cassy, wakey, Cassy – "

He stopped immediately, the same moment the mysterious lover looked at him. He didn't care for their green shade, not for the cracks and shadows of a broken soul.

What got him was how _dead_ he looked, as if Gabe was about to take something from him he knew he wasn't going to fight for.

Castiel was up only a second afterward, blue eyes flickering open to peer questioningly at Gabriel. He didn't seem to mind that the fragile person in his arms curled deeper into his embrace, appearing to only make his own embrace tighter. "Don't call me that," he rumbled. He swept his lips across the man's forehead. "'Morning, Dean…"

"Cas…" Dean's voice was full of uncertainty and even a bit of resignation.

"He won't harm you, he's a colleague of mine." He sat up and the quilt on him pooled around his waist. "Gabriel, this is Dean Winchester. Dean, this is my boss, Gabriel Loki." He turned a hard look on Gabriel. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? Oh, I was just checking in on my favorite officer~" he studied the room around him.

There were no pills, no alcohol, and no baggies. The bulletin board across from the bed was covered with a marine blue sheet.

Gabriel, from experience, knew what was on that board.

Aside from the bed and the board, there was nothing else to determine that the motel room was Cassy's. He obviously hadn't been planning on staying long.

"Why are you checking on me?" Castiel asked suspiciously. Dean was trying his hardest to pretend that Gabe wasn't there, going as far as to wrap his arms around Cassy's waist and burrowing his face against his back. Castiel rested a hand on his left shoulder and stroked.

That surprisingly seemed to calm him a bit.

"I heard screaming." He leered. "I thought my little Cassy was finally going to get laid."

Sometimes, even he was annoyed by how insensitive he was.

Dean whimpered and, really? Gabriel couldn't take it. It wasn't like he was skin and bones, something that needed protection from everything. There was actual meat to him, not just that, but _muscle_. He could see it bulging from his biceps and triceps as he squeezed Castiel's waist, the twitching bulk of his back and side. Considering the folds of the blanket on top of him, Gabe could even guess that Dean was taller than both other men in the room.

Dean wasn't small or puny. So why was he so clingy and brittle?

Castiel glared at Gabriel, pulling the quilt up to block Dean from view. "We have only slept together."

He eyed the clothing at the edge of the bed. "Huh."

"Just. _Sleep_. Nothing else."

"Of course, Cassy – "

"Don't call – "

Gabe's phone rang. "Excuse me while I get that."

In the next room, he grinned feral-y at the picture ID and flipped his cell open. "Yo, Sammy boy, miss me already?"

"_Gabriel," _the voice that answered was certainly not Sammy's, but that didn't make it any less recognizable.

Gabriel's grin was wiped off his face.

"_You wouldn't mind going on a little hunt for me, would you? I'm looking for Dean Winchester. His little brother just isn't as entertaining."_ As if to mock Gabriel, there was a scream of pain and then a sick laugh as background noise.

"I swear to _God_, Michael, if you harm him – "

"_What's this? My brother with commitment problems is going to threaten me over a boy?"_

"Damn straight." Because Sam was worth it.

And then his mind went blank. Wait, _Dean_ _Winchester_? Sam, his_ little brother_?

Gabriel looked back to the room divider, as if he could see through it to the two men lying on the bed.

That was what Sam had wanted to do so badly and yet had been so scared of. _Dean Winchester_…

Sammy had an older brother, one he had never told Gabriel about. That hurt, man. But that wasn't the most important thing on his mind, either.

"_Bring Dean home and I'll give back Sam. Don't bother asking for directions, just have my little one lead you. If it so happens that you can't find Dean…" _ Ominously, the message ended there.

Gabriel had a white-knuckled clutch on the small device.

He slipped back into the bedroom and both men were already dressed. Castiel looked at him instantly but Dean took a moment longer to follow.

"Dean Winchester… Deano…" He grinned with fake suave as he saddled up to the two boys. "Tell me, how good are you at strategies? Because, let me tell _you_, my big brother just called, saying that he had my lover in his custody. And, _apparently_, my lover is…" he pointed an accusing finger at Dean, "your baby brother… I didn't even know he had a brother!"

Dean's face was pale and getting paler by the second. "S-Sammy…?"

"Wait for it, Deano, don't start freaking out yet 'cause here's the _really_ freaky part. My big brother… was asking for _you_. Now, tell me honestly, do you happen to know a so-so tall guy with eyes like mine? Name's Michael? Really psycho?"

Dean looked as if Gabriel had just stabbed him. Castiel had a hand over his shoulder and that didn't seem to be helping him at all.

"Now… what would my big brother… want with you?"


	4. Chapter 3: Fight For Your Right

Michael flipped his phone shut and considered the naked giant on his bed. He had been too big to strap down to the posts, so he'd bound his calves to his thighs using two belts on each leg, one held awkwardly. Both arms were tied to the upper posts and he was blindfolded.

Disinterestedly, he watched sperm and blood seep between his spread legs. He witnessed the bruises and the burns. If it hadn't been for how tensely the boy was holding himself, jaw clenched shut and bloodied teeth bared, he would have assumed he was even unconscious from shame and pain.

He should have been unconscious. Michael himself had been too angry to lay a hand on the kid, but his boys had been more then helpful in taking over for him.

Sam Winchester… Dean's little brother. Of course, Dean had never told him that. He had never really given him a chance too.

With all the pictures that had once been about and the stories circulating through town, Dean had never needed to tell him. Sam Winchester… Dean's beloved little brother, the only person in the world he would live, die, sacrifice, and steal for.

If such were true, then Michael would have Dean back within the hour. Or as soon as he could be found. And once his little one was returned to his rightful owner, he would have to punish him. Maybe he would be lenient and let his boys at him.

Maybe he would be cruel and leave Dean alone for a few days.

His three men were waiting on the other side of the mattress, Raphael doing up his pants while Uriel fixed his shirt. Zachariah waited with hands folded beneath his pot belly.

"Men," Michael began low and softly, all three lackeys flinching to a full-standing position, "we should prepare for company." Because he didn't want Sam putting in his own two cents, which was apparently coming if his snarl was anything to go by, he stuffed the boy's underwear down his throat, gagging him.

Zachariah raised a brow. "Excuse me, sir, but this is just _Dean_ we're talking about. He's _pathetic_, why would we need to prepare for him?"

"On top of the fact that Dean has been known to be ferociously protective of his little brother, he's actually not the man I'm talking about."

The three men peeked at each other from the corner of their eyes.

"My little brother will be coming with him," Michael admitted. "And Gabriel used to be a freelance mercenary right up until five years ago when he switched over to the Coast Guards." He pondered his little brother's ability to actually defeat him, if given the chance.

In all honesty, he had seen Gabriel once since his brother had left home halfway through high school, stuck up in a tiff because of the family rivalry between Michael and their second oldest brother, Lucifer.

When they had met for the first and last time in a long while, it had been at Lucifer's funeral. A tragic death, really.

Michael hadn't meant to be so brutal. He wouldn't apologize for it, or for leaving Lucifer to be discovered in a graveyard, but he honestly hadn't meant to be so vicious.

Gabriel had stood across from him, on the other side of the coffin, and the look in his hazel eyes had said it all. The Law hadn't been able to prove him to be the murderer, but Gabriel knew him and he knew how he and Lucifer had been. His younger brother had glared at him the entire time, no brotherly love to be found, and the moment he threw his white rose on the descending casket, he had left.

Tonight had been the first time in many years that he had spoken to him.

Michael sat down on the side of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath him. Sam tensed and he watched him try fruitlessly to curl into himself, trying to protect his already wrecked body. His strapped legs pulled together and he observed the blue tint that had erupted around his knees where blood circulation had been cut off. One leg jerked and a pained gasp escaped Sam, broken bones grinding together no doubt.

Imagine his surprise when he had been skimming through the boy's phone, thinking to find someone who could find his little one for him, only to find Gabriel's phone number and the ID picture depicting him and Sam kissing.

He pondered whether or not to touch the boy now but he found himself still too angry to even consider it. If he touched Sam now…

He'd do worse than kill him. He would make him _beg_ to die and then… he would deny him. He would leave him, broken and alive on the bed for both their brothers to find him.

Dean would deserve no less.

Michael had made a promise to him, to never leave him alone. As long as Dean kept his interest, that was. And yet, here he was, without his little one.

Why had Dean rebelled? Why? All had been going well, yes? No… Three days ago, he had sensed it, that Dean's attention had been split. When his little one had met his gaze, there had been another man behind those beautiful green eyes.

So Dean had left him for another… Dean had abandoned him.

And if Sam hadn't walked unknowingly into his midst, Michael doubted he would have found his little one again so soon. Of course, Sam wouldn't know where Dean was. Obviously. And Gabriel might not either. But Gabriel could find him.

And, if Gabriel wanted his little lover back, he would have to.

Michael eyed the naked expense of the boy, all solid muscle and _cuteness_, somehow. All Gabriel's, defiled by all that was Michael.

"Did you know that, boy?" he spoke to the restrained Winchester. "Did you know that your lover used to be a killer? Did he ever tell you about his family, about me and the brother that I murdered?"

He waited for any telltale sign that Sam understood what he was saying or that he knew what he was talking about.

"Did you tell him about abandoning your brother to the likes of me? Because, if you haven't caught on yet, Dean wouldn't have turned to me had you stayed." Then he questioned his own logic. "But then you wouldn't have met Gabriel, my brother. And I wouldn't have Dean." His fingers drummed the sheets mere inches from Sam's side. "It all circles back to you, though, doesn't it? What would have happened and what did happen, all determined by you." He thought back on fonder times. "I suppose this has been a terrible night for you. I wonder if this gives you some insight on what your big brother has been going through for the past two years."

The kid hadn't cried while they had tortured him. He'd been surprisingly strong about that. He had screamed twice only, the first time during the initial two-man penetration and the second time when Michael had been on the phone while Raphael had broken Sam's leg.

Michael watched with some fascination as tears dampened the young man's blindfold, a solitary salty crystal seeping beneath the cloth to trail desolately down his cheek. His adams apple bobbed and his shoulders shook for just a moment. Only a moment. And then he sucked in a deep breath through his nose and he stopped reacting again.

He looked from him to his men and nodded solemnly. "I want you two," he stared at Zachariah and Uriel, "downstairs waiting for their arrival. One at the front door and another at the back door. Call me the moment someone arrives, whether or not Dean is with them."

They left without a word. Michael turned to Raphael who looked loyally back at him. "They'll die," he admitted without remorse. Raphael nodded, as if he had also realized this. "Dean, for all his fragility, knows how to fight, gun or not. Gabriel is a force all his own, a trickster in a fight. Between the two of them, they will destroy Zachariah and Uriel."

"Yes, sir."

"Are you wondering why I haven't sent you to your death?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because they will most likely come with a third man." He retracted that. "Or a woman. This person is the one who most likely got Dean to revolt in the first place. The moment you see this person, I want you to shoot to kill." He didn't explain how Raphael would recognize said person. Obviously, it would be the person who Dean would cling to. His tawny eyes swirled violently. "If Dean loses his dependency on me now, he will come after me to murder me." He looked back to Sam. "Dean will end me if he learns of what I did to his brother. Making him alone again will give me leverage over him. As long as he needs me, he will listen to me."

Always a strategist, he stood and went to the window, looking out at the afternoon sky. "And if he will listen to me, Gabriel will be at a disadvantage."

"Yes, sir." Raphael, such a wonderful puppet, bobbed his head and then left as well, going to situate himself at a window till he got a call saying where to locate his prey.

He would use one bullet and end the life of whomever it was that took his little one away. If that person came, that was.

Knowing Dean and his attractions to strength, his abductor would more than likely not think twice about coming along for the rescue party.

~ :: ~

Gabriel had an arsenal in the trunk of his '66 Ford Mustang GT Convertible.

Dean would have been impressed had it been under different circumstances. Or during a different time. Maybe if he'd been a different person and he hadn't learned all in about a minute that his little brother was indeed alive, well, in love, and then in the hands of his psychopathic Mas–

He shook his head. No more thinking like that, Cas had told him that. Cas had said, _"Dean, you have no Master. You are your own person." _Dean had to believe that.

But, no, still, Sam was with Michael. Michael was most likely with his gang. Michael and his gang never really treated people nicely.

Dean wasn't sure whether he was pissed off at everyone in the world including himself or just freaked out as all Hell. Could he save Sam in time? Could he even be strong for Sam anymore? Could he honest to _God_, stand up to the same man who had supported him over the past two years for the little brother he hadn't seen for a little over three years?

Hell, that wasn't even his biggest concern.

More than anything else, he was terrified shitless of what Sam would think of him. Dean, the big brother, fallen so low he'd become a toy for a criminal. Dean, the big brother… not protecting his little brother when it mattered.

And the longer they stood around Gabriel's car, Gabriel showing Cas how to use a gun _correctly _while shaking like a leaf (because he failed the first two times to put the safety off; withdrawal symptoms were just playing havoc with his body), the more antsy and afraid he became.

Would Sam even want to see him again? After all, Sam was the one to leave. That meant that something had been wrong about Dean, right? Something about Dean had driven him away, just like something about him had gotten everyone he'd ever loved killed and attracted Michael –

He grabbed onto the bumper of the car as he bent over double, gagging. He was slick with cold sweat and shaking.

He couldn't do it. For so many goddamned reasons, he _couldn't_ do it… but then he thought of Sam's wellbeing and he knew that he _had_ to do it. But, damn, what if he screwed up? What if Sam _died_, what if he was hurt so bad he'd never heal? What if he got Gabriel or Cas – _Cas _of all people – killed?

"Dean?" Like an angel in disguise, Cas was there, dirty trench coat flaring around his heels as he shoved the gun he was currently re-learning into Gabriel's arms and surrounded the Winchester in his embrace, pressing up against his back. "Dean, are you alright?"

_Nonononononono_ – "No…" He was going to go in there and save Sam, no matter what. Because he was the big brother and big brothers did everything they could to protect their little brothers. Everything and anything, no matter how big or small the sacrifices. He'd give or take and live or die for Sam, just for Sam.

And then he thought of Michael. Michael had been all he had had in the past two years, could he turn away from that? For Sam, Hell yeah, but could he _kill_ Michael? Or even stand by and watch him be killed? If they killed him, then…

Then Dean would be alone again. Because Cas had a life of his own and if Sam came out of this alive, he'd go back with Gabriel and Dean would have nobody.

Cas must have been a fantastic mind reader because Dean said none of this and yet he still seemed to understand exactly what was going on with the Winchester.

He turned him around and kissed him like there was no tomorrow, like a pact, a freaking _vow_. Like they were getting married or sealing their souls together, all searing lips and questing tongues, deep presses and soundless words.

"Whatever happens tonight, Dean," Cas said as he pulled away, mouth bruised and a string of saliva between them, "I will always protect you."

"But you could _die_ – "

"And I would still be with you, never leaving you alone." His sincere, intense, yet hazy blue eyes found Dean's green gaze. "You don't need him anymore. You'll never need him again."

"_Cas_…"

"Dean."

He wrapped his arms around the officer's shoulders and dragged them as close together as physically possible, just wanting to draw strength from his broken and unbreakable (strange how that was, right?) ally. Could they be considered lovers yet? Just friends? Definitely not brothers, but they were something.

Gabriel cleared his throat and glared at the both of them. Cas had taken a moment earlier to tell Dean that his boss was actually funny, but Dean hadn't seen any of that since before the call. This guy in front of him wasn't funny, he was bloodthirsty.

If it had been someone else's blood but Michael's, Dean would have been too.

"Let's go save Sammy," Dean whispered at last when he wasn't shaking.

"Let's go save Samuel," Cas agreed with a brief nod,who seemed to have taken Dean's shaking onto himself. Was he honestly going to take Cas along with him, him suffering withdrawal? He guessed so and that made it all hurt a little bit more.

"Then get in the damn car! Jeez, you want me to do everything for you two? My sweetheart needs me, thank you very much!"

Dean wondered whether or not, if he had been in a better mind, he would have liked Gabriel or tried to kill him for bedding his brother.

~ :: ~

Zachariah saw the headlights first. He spared a small moment to contact Michael via cell phone and then he raised his gun to take out the driver, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the twin lights.

He fired off three rounds, hearing the satisfying shatter of glass. The car came to a slow halt.

Now he just had to wait for any survivors. In the brief second he had the thought, it occurred to him that, maybe, he had shot Dean.

Michael would never let him live that down. Then again, Michael wouldn't _kill_ him… Zachariah was too valuable to him.

He waited for nearly seven minutes, staring at the still vehicle till his vision danced with black spots and blurred. Why hadn't anyone come out?

Then again, there might have been only one person. Maybe just Dean to the rescue, this fabled Gabriel staying away. Or maybe it was Gabriel who had been unable to find Dean.

Caught up in thoughts, he frowned.

By the time he realized that Castiel had been standing directly behind him for the past three minutes, fumbling with the safety while also frowning, mouthing something along the lines of "please stop shaking, body", it was too late.

Cas shot off before Zachariah could raise his own pistol.

~ :: ~

Castiel looked down at the fallen body with something close to heartache, and definitely something of a headache. He had signed up for the Coast Guard to save people, not to kill them. But here he was, ending lives.

He countered the fuzzy, dark thoughts of guilt and self-hatred with cold hard facts. This man had, at one point, raped and tortured and used Dean. And he might have done most of the same things to Sam, albeit over a much shorter period of time. And, honestly, Cas wasn't really sure if he liked this Samuel yet.

Sam had abandoned Dean. But Dean loved Sam enough to overcome his dependency on (and terror of) Michael. In Castiel's mind, that put him somewhere between a traitor and a decent man. And, well, his superior was in love with Sam, so that put him closer to being a decent man.

Somewhat over his actions, he turned on his heel and returned to Gabriel and Dean at the back door, a man's body lying bloodily on the floor.

He had said something about silencers on guns still not actually being that _quiet_. And then he'd slit the man's throat when he had come outside to investigate the rustling among the wrecked cars (AKA, Dean acting as bait, which had not pleased Castiel _at all_).

Dean looked up at him, scanning him with those soul-stealing green eyes, like he had to make sure that Castiel was okay. To assure him, he slid his hand over his left shoulder.

Unbelievable, how comforting that was to the shattered soul.

The moment was (for a good reason) ruined as Gabriel cut them a glare, telling them to keep _moving_ or else he'd go on without them.

Dean led them to the second floor, him being the only one of them to know the house, and they edged their way carefully down the hallway. Gabriel and Castiel were looking from door to door for the enemy and for Sam. Dean just kept walking forward with a hard glare, knowing without bothering to tell them exactly where to go.

He was heading towards the end of the hall, eyes focused on a shut door with no light filtering out from its creases, unlike the majority of other rooms.

Castiel watched this man, the man who stalked down the hall like a trained predator, his every move slow and sinewy, as if he were a huge cat. Muscles rippled and he didn't make a sound, there was nothing small or brittle about him.

In that moment, Dean was strong. A bit pale, hands not the surest, but Castiel was seeing a superhero now in the Winchester. A superhero that was steadily coming back into his powers.

Despite the situation and the unfamiliarity of their relationship, he couldn't help but grin and feel proud. Now he understood why Pride was such a sin.

It was getting to his head and all he could think was: _'If I weren't here, he wouldn't be so resolute.'_ Dangerous thinking, that. If he considered Dean in that light, in that sort of dependency, he would be no better than this mysterious Michael. So he turned his thoughts to something else - _not how damn much he wanted a fix right now_. Not that. The situation was too serious for that.

Behind him, Gabriel snapped around. Whatever for, Castiel wasn't sure until his superior threw himself on top of him, forcing them both down to the ground and drawing Dean's attention immediately to them.

The door Castiel had been standing in front of, about to check, became checkered in bullet holes, hardly a sound following them except for the crack of wood and violation of plaster.

"Cas – " Dean looked at him with desperate eyes, all of that majestic power leaving him in one nanosecond of terror.

"I'm fine," he assured, pushing Gabriel off of him, though gently because the man had just saved his life. "I'll take care of this." He thought it a bit too unoriginal to tell them to 'go on without him'. After all, they were just going another two doors down.

They were hardly abandoning each other.

Even Dean seemed to realize that because he just nodded, gulped, and kissed Castiel one last time before following Gabriel to that last room. The door splintered beneath their combined weight and whatever happened in that room, Castiel wouldn't know.

He had someone else to deal with. Hopefully, he wouldn't fail. He gave his shaking hands a hard look. _Don't Fail_, he told his own body. His thoughts cleared a little and that was helpful at least.

The destroyed panel of wood between him and his attacker gave with a screeching cry, one of the bullets having ricocheted off of the bottom hinge.

A man was waiting for him in there, polishing the muzzle of his gleaming gun. He looked up as Castiel entered and there was no particular emotion in his eyes. "I thought you might have survived. You… your name wouldn't happen to be Gabriel, would it?"

"No."

"Then you're the man who abducted Dean."

He didn't particularly like that wording, but… "Yes."

"I have to kill you."

He hadn't expected any less.

Now he just had to get his hands to cooperate all over again before the man decided to stop buffing his piece.

~ :: ~

What Gabriel saw… he just…

_No_. That wasn't his Sammy, couldn't be. But it was, wasn't it? _No_… Yes.

His moose-y angel was strapped down to a four-poster bed, a victim. His giant of a sweetheart was _helpless_. And, holy _shit_, were those his boxers down his throat? Was that jizz and blood on his thighs, were those bruises and _burns_ on his skin? Was his leg fucking _broken_? And what the Hell was with all the belts, all of it, just _shit_!

No, no, _no_. Not cool, man. Not in the least.

Dean choked next to him and dropped his gun. He might have at one point known how to scope a room before letting go of his weapon, but time and abuse had dulled him, fear ripping the last of his wisdom away from him.

It was reasonable, then, that Gabriel saw Michael in the corner of the room first, gun on Dean. "Dean, DUCK."

The Winchester didn't so much as hit the deck as throw himself over Sam's prone body, mouth to his ear and saying things Gabe couldn't make out from his place at the door.

It wasn't like he would have been able to hear him anyway. Michael's gun didn't have a silencer and the house itself didn't die quietly as bullets drilled into its walls. Gabriel dropped to the ground, rolled, and then came up on the safe side of a large oak wardrobe. Dean was at the mattress, untying Sam in the flurry.

Michael was closer to the two than Gabe was, but his spot wasn't as safe. If he so much as lifted his gun, Gabriel would have a clean shot.

"Gabriel, good to see you again."

"I wish I could say the same thing."

"I'm sorry about your lover. It's nothing personal, we didn't even know he was yours till I looked at his contacts."

That pissed him off. Sure, he'd referred to Sam as his before in the past. But hearing _Michael_ say it, call Sam _his_, it made him feel disgusted.

Michael let the words roll off his tongue like he was talking about an object, like he'd accidentally stolen Gabe's _microwave_ for God's sake, and was trying to play it off as not even knowing it had been Gabriel's to begin with.

"You…" There it was, fury in Dean's eyes. "You sick son of a _bitch_. I'll fucking kill you!"

Gabriel would have grinned, _would have_, had it been under different circumstances. _'Good boy'_. He was getting there. Somewhere deep inside that repressed spirit, there was a Dean Winchester who was tough as nails, he just _knew_ it.

Michael sighed. "My little one… I had hoped it wouldn't end this way."

The moment Gabriel saw his forearm as he aimed to kill, he shot. Michael cursed as the gun was shot out of his hand, but it was only after a first 'bang!' had sounded.

Thank God Dean just managed to drag Sam off the bed.

"You have another gun over there, Mikey?" Gabriel purred. He watched as Sam tore off his blindfold and gag, Dean ushering him under the bed. He had a flesh wound, right upper arm. But he would be fine. "What a shame, I thought you were better than that. We haven't even started the fight yet and somehow you're down one!"

"Gabriel, no one appreciates your narrating," Michael growled. There was a tell-tale click of another gun.

"Don't worry. You don't have much more time to not appreciate it anyway."

_Author's Note: Too much drama or not enough?_

_EDIT: I edited this chapter because I had a reviewer who pointed out with a long list of cold facts that I really wasn't helping my case by having an incompetent gun-using Castiel. But then she/he mentioned drug effects and that was when I realized I made another mistake. Cas is quitting cold turkey, that can't be enjoyable. So he's suffering withdrawal instead of being gun-stupid. I actually prefer it this way. If you see something that offends you or just isn't researched well enough and it shows, please don't be afraid to tell me._


	5. Chapter 4: Won and Lost

Dean couldn't believe he was seeing his baby brother after all these years. He looked so healthy and _big_ and – well, obviously he was loved, he had Gabriel who had risked life or death coming to save him from his own _brother_ – and hurt. Raped and beaten and it was all _Dean's_ fault.

Michael had done this. Him and his goons. Dean felt, for the first time in years, _rage_. It boiled up inside of him, dangerous and hot. He wanted to kill Michael, he wanted to burn the bed to ashes, he wanted to do so many things he had never dared to think of since he had lost his freedom!

But he had dropped his gun, so he couldn't kill Michael, at least from this distance, and they were hiding beneath the bed, so it wouldn't do any good to set it on fire. He couldn't scream because he just… _couldn't_. He couldn't say a thing, not around the lump in his throat.

He just looked Sam in the eyes and realized how much of a failure he was. His own choices in life had led Sam here, to suffer like this, and it wasn't _fair_! Sam didn't deserve this shit. But here he was, covered in cum, blood, cuts, and bruises. He had friction burns and tear stains, a hopeless-sort of light in his hazel eyes.

Dean cupped his face in both his hands and tried to say something, _anything_, but all that came out was his brother's name in broken syllables. He wasn't even sure what he said till Sam wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held on with all his considerable strength. "I-I'm here, Dean… I should have been h-here for you… so much sooner!" His voice was hoarse and Dean didn't have to wonder why. He didn't want to wonder.

Vaguely, he's aware of the fact that Michael and Gabriel were fighting. The guns went off a few times and he knew the exact moment they ran out of bullets because he heard the metal hit the ground and the scuffle of two bodies coming together.

He twisted his upper body around to see them. He was instantly happy that Sam, though taller than him, had his head level with Dean's chest and couldn't see around him unless he tried and he was too drained to do that.

Gabriel and Michael didn't fight like douchebags or drunks. They knew martial arts and they weren't afraid to use it. Michael cracked into the dresser and, in the next moment, Gabriel was two inches away from flying out the window. It went back and forth with Michael slowly but surely gaining the upper hand.

At one point, he had Gabriel on the ground. He was choking him with the calmness of one not killing his younger brother and Gabriel was trying to buck him off and twist his wrists at the same time. He was doing everything right to get free, but… Michael was doing everything right to keep him down at the same time.

Sam must have heard Gabriel wheezing for air because he pushed away from Dean's chest to look. "G-Gabe!" His eyes were wide with love and pain and fear and – Dean wouldn't be able to live with himself if Gabriel died. He couldn't imagine looking into those eyes if Gabriel wasn't there. He already had a hard enough time, seeing as how he had gotten his little brother _raped_, but this would be the end, he just knew it.

What he did, it made him the person he had once been. _Strong_. He rolled away from Sam, torpedoed across the floor, and grabbed the gun he had dropped by the doorway. He coiled around and – Michael was staring at him.

Dean looked into those eyes and was cowed. He couldn't do it, he couldn't pull the trigger. Michael had been so much a part of his life, his life line basically, and it was impossible! Gabriel was still there, struggles dying down, and Sam was crawling out of the safe zone with a single-minded resolve in his agonized eyes.

"Little one…" Michael whispered.

"Dean." That wasn't Michael. That was Cas. A hand settled on Dean's shoulder, wet and warm and Dean assumed it to be blood. He was shaking hard now too. "Shoot."

Michael ducked and rolled too late, though he did give it a valiant attempt.

A hole bloomed in the center of his forehead. Dean would have been a little proud of his marksmanship except Michael was _dead_.

All he had known for the past two years, the only thing keeping him sane. It had been dirty and demeaning and unhappy, but it had been all Dean had had. Now it was gone and Michael was still staring at him with those calm eyes, even with the light gone from them.

Gabriel gasped and panted, getting air back. Sam shoved Michael's body off of him and grabbed hold of his lover, putting his face in the junction of his head and shoulder. Gabriel turned towards him and held him, like he was everything precious in the world, and that did something to heal the gaping hole in Dean's chest.

The rage was gone now. Michael was gone with it. What was he supposed to feel? He had been repressed for so long, he wasn't even sure…

Castiel reached out and gently plucked the gun from him. It was only then that he realized his hands were shaking. "Dean…" That's all he said. But Dean heard everything in that single word, every concern and praise and tear.

"I-I – Cas, I don't know… Michael…" He looked desperately up at him and he wasn't strong anymore. He was lost and unsure. He was most likely alone again.

Sam would be stupid to hang out with him after this. He had suffered so much because of Dean. He imagined Gabriel would be following Sam and Castiel wouldn't always be there, no matter what he had promised. No one was always there for Dean, Dean was always, always alone… Except when Michael had been there.

Castiel's face was bruised and there was a cut above his one eyebrow. Dean could only guess that the guns they had been fighting with in the other room had somehow gotten misplaced and a blade had gotten involved because there were slices showing through the man's trench coat. The source of blood on his hand was a slash along his forearm.

He held his other hand out and Dean took it, using it to get to his feet.

Castiel held his gaze and Dean wasn't strong enough to look away. "Look after your brother while I check on Gabriel."

Dean could follow orders. Michael had taught him that, so, if nothing else, that was something he could do. It wasn't something he wanted to do – now, without the weight of Michael on their shoulders, what would Sam think of him?

He was going to let Dean have it now, Dean just knew it. And it wouldn't be any less than he deserved.

He thought it would take a full-force attack to separate Sam and Gabriel. It only took a hand on his brother's shoulder to get him to move, that and a grin from his lover.

They relocated (slowly and painfully) to the bathroom and Dean helped Sam clean up. He took a long shower and Dean helped with that too, because – aside from the fact that Sam couldn't hold himself up on one leg – he remembered the first time Michael had smooth talked him into an orgy with his boys. It hadn't been a happy time. Dean had had just enough rebellion left in him that night to fight halfway through and that had made the experience feel like he was being ripped to shreds.

He knew enough to know that the water wasn't going to clean Sam – not in the way he was trying to be clean, anyway. They turned it on searing hot first and when that failed to burn the taint away, he went on freezing cold as if he could just numb his body and all the messages it was sending him.

Dean was still dressed, but that didn't stop him from stepping into the shower when Sam sobbed – just a small sound, not even a full cry – and holding him. It reminded him painfully of their childhood, after mom had died and some time after dad had started drinking. The nights where he would turn to the brothers and blame them for his problems, how Sam would cry afterwards because he had only been a little boy who had wanted a family more than anything else in the world.

"Dean… I'm so sorry, I abandoned you, I left you alone – I-I was being so selfish…"

"Sammy, stop…"

"No, Dean! I'm not going to stop!" Sam ripped himself out of his arms and stared down at Dean.

It made him feel so small to have to look up to his little brother. He felt like Sam had become a giant in the time they were apart, but Sam hadn't even grown that much since the last time they saw each other. An eternity, but it hadn't been that long, actually.

"I should have come back, I should have _talked to you_ – I shouldn't have just left like that and I'm, I'm so sorry… _He_ got to you because I left you –"

"Hey now, don't take all the credit."

"Dean." God, he had never guessed he would miss Sam's bitchfaces. The joy he felt just by seeing it made him smile despite everything.

Michael was dead in the next room.

His smile died quickly. Okay, not despite everything.

"I'm being serious! I can't… I'm not going to leave you like this again, okay? I'm going to get you help – get us _both_ help, and we're going to get through this together…"

"… Get through _what_ together?"

"Dean, do you know what 'Stockholm syndrome' is?"

He frowned. "Uhh… Sure… it's whatever you say it is."

"It's when a victim becomes dependent on his or her – in your case, his – tormentor."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Dean…" Sam sighed and a tear rolled down his face, mixing with the water droplets. "It has everything to do… with you."

~::~

Gabriel had some friends still in the business. Dean didn't personally care for their pantheon-related cover names or even for them themselves. He was just happy that they knew how to do a good cleanup and that, by the time they left, all traces of Michael and his goons was gone from his house.

A part of him still wanted to get rid of it, though. Michael had been here, and Dean would always remember that, no matter if there was no proof to show it. Michael and his people. Dean hadn't lived here for years, it had been "little one". Dean the human had been long gone from this house.

But it was Bobby's too, Sammy's and his. They had had good memories here and the salvage yard was still in the back. His Impala was up front and he could repair that, given time and supplies. He could start up the family business again and put up regular hours at the bar.

The thoughts swirled around in his head till it occurred to him that he was actually free to do all of this.

Castiel found him two hours later, hiding among the metal skeletons in the yard. "Dean?" The man sat down next to him on the hood of a rusty Ford.

He jerked and shifted closer instantly, almost to the point of being on Cas. He needed the contact. "I don't know what the fuck to do, Cas, I'm – I'm…"

"Free?"

Dean gulped. "Yeah. Free. I don't know what to do."

Castiel wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled his head down to his chest. "Neither do I. I've been shaking this whole time. My head, it's… Nothing is clear to me right now. I want to escape with everything in me, in any form I can find escape, and the only thing keeping me from raiding your medical cabinet is _you_. Use me like I use you, Dean."

"… That sounded dirty, Cas." But in a good way, he thought. So he grinned and winked. He hadn't winked in so long, it almost felt foreign. "I like it."

Castiel took a moment to think that over, staring into the distance. Then his eyes slid to Dean's and there was just a speck of humor to be found, though his lips spread more easily into a small grin. "Dean, get your head out of the gutter."

He laughed. He couldn't help it, really. When was the last time he had been able to make a sex joke? But then his laughter died quickly as he thought of the situation. This was the end of the weak Dean, wasn't it? How could he know for sure, though? "Cas… Tell me to do something."

"Like what?"

"Something… something degrading. Something just _fucked up_."

"Dean, I don't want to –"

"You said to use you like you use me, now damn it, help me!"

Castiel stared at him for a very long moment. "Kiss me."

Dean groaned. "Not good enough, Cas, It's not degrading! Say something really bad, something you'd never say in a thousand years."

"Then why would I say it now?"

"_Cas_ – "

"Dean."

There was a static moment where Dean glared at him and Cas glared back.

He finally gave. "Dean," he said with so much damn authority that Dean shivered and ducked his head. He had that low, gravelly voice – like Michael's and yet so _not_ like Michael's because everything about Michael had been smooth and now he was _dead_. "Come with me to the house and then… and then suck me off in front of your brother."

That was good for a first time. Dean's stomach dropped just at the idea of it and yet something hot curled in his nether regions at the thought of having Cas in his mouth. He imagined that Castiel would be a gentle lover and wouldn't fuck the back of his throat like Michael's goons.

He swallowed and pushed the thoughts away. "… No."

His entire world ended with a burst of black and blue and red and he felt as if every bone in his body had been yanked free, but there was no pain. There was fear and uncertainty, but there was something good too. Like he could finally breathe.

When had been the last time he had said no? And not because Michael had wanted him to, but because _he_ had wanted to? The weak Dean really seemed to be gone, he might actually be able to be have his own mind again.

He waited anxiously for Cas's reply. Michael had beaten the no out of him early on and now he just needed to know that Cas wouldn't do the same. He doubted it, but… he hadn't been hanging out with the best of people lately, had he? Trust wasn't that easy to come by.

Castiel brought him into the circle of his arms and kissed the corner of his lips. "Thank you."

The fear was swept away with the contact and Dean managed a small, small smile. "Jeez, Cas, you might just be after my heart."

Neither of them replied to that. They were a little too torn and tattered to be considering love and they needed to heal a little.

Besides, Dean still had to look after his baby brother. He needed to make sure that Sammy was okay and that _they_ were okay. Castiel needed to make sure that his boss wasn't going stir-crazy, having had his lover raped by his own brother and his goons as well as his near-death experience.

They would talk about emotions eventually… for now, there was just so much more they had to do.

They had to hold each other together.

_Author's Note: Still testing out drama, so, yes, two out of three people lost their gun in this chapter and fought hand-to-hand combat. One out of three got their gun back and just blasted the motherfucker. _

_Drama on a level of 1-10, 1 being too little, 10 being too much, and 5 being just right, what do you think?_


	6. Chapter 5: Rise From Hell

Sam and Dean spent the next year with a therapist. They each talked about what had happened and how it had affected them, though Sam was quicker to open up than Dean. Sam could admit that something bad had happened. Dean couldn't even get himself to say till nearly six months later that he had been in an abusive relationship.

Dean got out almost two years after Sam but it was expected. The amount of trauma he had gone through, the gang rapes, beatings, murders – just _all_ the things he had ever been through. That wasn't just going to go away.

Dean managed to talk Cas into taking a detox program and AA. They decided he needed some therapy too, considering the root of all his drug and alcohol abuse. They almost suggested medication – but that defeated the purpose of detoxification, didn't it?

He was certified an emotionally somewhat-healthy person about four months before Dean, and Dean, Sam, and Gabriel even went to his "graduation".

Now it was Dean's turn. He had his certificate in hand and was walking away from his therapist, who waved and said a heartfelt goodbye. He felt he was a little too old for an honest-to-God diploma, but his last day had corresponded with some kids who were graduating out of group therapy and, somehow, they had gotten it in their heads to make diplomas for the children. His therapist had heard about it and asked if they would make an extra one, so now he had a paper with his name written out in old English, rimmed in green, and with a photoshopped '67 Chevy Impala on it.

He told himself he wouldn't keep it. He wasn't twelve anymore! But he knew he was going to. It was _his fucking accomplishment_. He deserved to get a little reward, even if it was some kiddie credential.

Castiel was outside to pick him up. Sam and Gabe weren't there and Dean frowned. It was his big day, damn it, where were they? They had all been there for Sam and Cas, so why was he the odd one out?

Cas saw him and smiled. "Hello, Dean. How do you feel?"

"Like a champ. See, I even got a pretty certificate." He flashed it and Cas's eyes sparkled amusedly when he saw the Impala.

"That's good." When Dean was close enough, he wrapped an arm around his waist and brought them affectionately close. Their foreheads bumped and then Cas edged him towards the driver seat of the newly resurrected Chevy Impala.

It had taken a while to get the right parts and put it all back together. The prices and the availability hadn't always added up either, and Dean would have rather thrown the whole idea out than buy a new one.

He grinned as he got behind the wheel. It always made him feel good to do that, to just _drive_ and it was a healing balm all its own for his psychological scars.

Castiel got calmly into the passenger seat. "We have to go meet Sam and Gabriel now. They have a… surprise for you." He looked sideways at him and Dean quirked an eyebrow.

"A surprise, eh? Just seeing them would have been good enough, now they have a _surprise_?" He thought about it for a moment. He started the car and pulled off the curb. "Can't hurt to get spoiled a little, I guess."

Castiel chuckled.

Dean gave him his best adorably imploring look. "You wouldn't happen to know what the surprise is, would you?"

"They knew you would ask me."

"Is that a no?"

"I know."

"… You gonna tell me?"

"They knew you would ask me."

"What does that _mean_?"

"It means that, if I tell you, they will know I told you." He shifted around a little uneasily. "I wish to one day make love to you."

Dean would like that too, and he zoned out for a minute thinking about it. Before Michael, he had been libido on legs. During him, sex had still been frequent, even if Dean had or hadn't liked it at times. Now it was nearly three years later and the only thing he and Cas had done were hand and blow jobs. Heavy make-out sessions that were making Dean short of breath just thinking about them…

"Dean!" Cas's voice dragged him out of his daydreams and the wheels of his baby screeched to a halt as he noticed the red light. "Dean, are you okay?"

Had he been drooling? He was starting to think so. He wiped his chin quickly. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

He looked down at Cas's lap. Beneath those black slacks lied a gentle giant.

He made himself think clearly. Was he ready for that? His therapist had suggested against it at first, saying some psychological jumbo, and while Dean hadn't been up for listening to her, Sam had been. That first year and a half, he had gone out of his way to make sure that Dean and Cas didn't "sleep" together.

There had been a few occasions when he had even used nightmares as a reason. Gabriel wasn't home those times and it had been early in his therapy, so he would walk in on Dean and Cas – whether they were doing something or not – and ask to sleep with his big brother. He'd give him that puppy-dog look and Dean would be cowed.

Sam was a big guy, though, and that officially eliminated Cas from the bedroom just to make room for the brothers.

After that, Dean and Cas just hadn't… hadn't been able to get back into the loop. They tried to, once, the very night Sam had said he would stop trying to get in their way, but that hadn't gone well. Dean had started losing the rhythm the moment Cas was above him, both naked, and Cas prepping him. Cas had asked him to lift his hips and Dean had said…

Dean swallowed just at the mere memory.

"_Yes, Master."_

Now they were honestly waiting. Dean had no clue what for and Cas didn't seem to know either, but they just knew that they were _this_ close to jumping each other and there was just _something_ holding them off. Something that needed to be done or said before they could leap that bridge.

"Dean, it's flattering, but you need to keep your eyes on the road."

Ah, shit, had he been staring at Cas's lap the entire time? It was enough that the more depressing thoughts were forced away and he managed a Dean-worthy smirk. "Aaaw, Cas… There's a beast down there I have to get to the bottom to, y'know?" He purposefully lowered his voice and added a nice husk, just like Cas enjoyed.

The man shivered. "Dean, we still have to meet Sam and Gabriel."

"No we don't… not unless _someone_ tells me why we have to."

"I repeat, I want to one day make love to you."

He was happy he hadn't bothered looking away. Though he managed to keep half an eye on the road so he didn't switch lanes or nearly run another red light. Dean stared fixedly at Cas's lap. "Yeah, I want that too, trust me," though the choice of words made him a bit edgy – when had Michael ever made love to him? Maybe that first time, but every time after… no. "But what does that have to do with jack shit?"

"The wrath of Gabriel is terrifying. The wrath of your brother is… somehow worse."

"… _Oh_."

"Yes, Dean. Oh."

~::~

Sam had planned a function behind his back, and had even talked the local church into helping him. So there was the house of worship with the front board saying _"With God and his angels as our guides, may we find the path to self-forgiveness"_.

Inside were fidgety women and men. If Dean hadn't been confused before, he was now. What did this have to do with a surprise?

He found out soon enough.

Sam took the podium first and he… he talked about himself. About his life and what he had gone through that night with Michael and his lackeys. Gabriel was in the front pew and Dean and Cas were leaning against the nearest wall. He looked between them constantly for support.

Dean doubted completely he was being much of a help. He felt ashamed and yet humbled with how Sam described him to these people – who he figured out were victims like him and Sam. Of course, Sam left out their rescue mission. No need admitting to that now, though Dean heard there were still some people looking for the missing bodies.

"Even though I felt all this shame and rage inside of me for what happened to me, I felt even worse for knowing what my brother went through, and… and the amazing part is that, when I learned that he still loved me, that I was still just _Sammy_, still just his little brother, I felt… a little better. I wasn't okay, not by a long shot, but… it was the beginning to a better day." Sam smiled back at a choked up Dean.

There was a hesitant round of applause before silence fell again. Some third sense that people have when they know a speech wasn't done kept them still.

Sam turned his smile to Gabriel who somehow managed to look self-hateful, proud as a peacock, and murderous at the same time. He had the right to be, Dean supposed. For one, he was Sam's lover. It was pretty much a given that, when people were so in love like they were, they were protective of each other and a bit possessive too.

For Sam to stand up there and admit to all of this was a good enough reason for them all to tear up, though.

"My boyfriend –"

'Butt buddy' Dean could see Gabriel mouth to Sam, who promptly rolled his eyes and then went on with his speech,

"Gabriel, helped too. He didn't pressure me into anything afterwards and he let me heal on my own time. I felt like I was pregnant – I'd wake up in the middle of the night and ask for something and he'd get it for me. If I was sick in the morning, he'd hold my hair back and – it wasn't something he blamed me for, and he wasn't disgusted of me. He still loved me and I just want you all to keep that in mind, that what happened to _you_… it isn't a brand and it's not going to mark you for life, you can still _live_ these beautiful lives and… and I hope you'll think about what I've said today. Even if you think it's a bunch of crap now, or if you think it's impossible, I still would like you all to give it a moment's thought. Thank you."

Everyone applauded. Gabriel gave him a standing ovation and Dean had to walk outside for a moment.

Fuck, but his brother was turning him into a total pansy.

Castiel followed him out a moment later. "Dean, Sam is looking for you."

Dean sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "Gimme a moment, something's stuck in my eye."

Castiel turned him around and pressed his lips to each green orb. "Is it better now?"

"… A little bit, but could you aim a little lower?"

Castiel's eyes immediately fell to his mouth. "How much lower?"

"You've got the right idea."

That was how Sam found them, a few minutes later, lip-locked. "Hey, uh, Dean? You mind?"

He did, but he still wanted to talk to Sam too. He reluctantly broke free of Castiel and his lover good-naturedly wandered off to chat with Gabriel, who was facing off with a few questionnaires himself.

"Sammy… That was… That was something." How could he describe it? He didn't know.

His little brother smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, I thought it would help… them and us."

"It did…" All these years later, he had still been blaming himself. Sam wouldn't have gotten into that situation if Dean hadn't been there to begin with. But Sam had gotten up there and he had said… everything Dean had needed to hear and been terrified to know. How could Sam blame himself for Dean's problems? It wasn't like Sam had introduced him to Michael or some shit like that. "Sammy, you're amazing."

They shared a _manly_ hug, thank you very much. And it felt good.

_Author's Note: The story isn't over yet, darlings._


	7. Chapter 6: Feels Good to Feel Good

Sam went to the office that night, after his function. Gabriel decided to go with him, for reasons Dean did _not_ want to think about. He could still hear Gabe in his mind from two years ago saying, "Can you _imagine_ the fun you can have with a desk and a blowjob?"

Luckily, Castiel got to stay. And Dean, who had gotten a job at a garage, was on his day off.

And they were holding each other, kissing long and slow, and Dean was on top because Castiel got upset when Dean went limp and demure beneath him. He grinded his ass down on Cas's hard-on and that felt _so fucking good_.

They groaned together and Dean sucked in a deep breath, rolled them over, and then wrapped his legs pointedly around Cas's waist.

There was a moment where Cas just blinked down at him. "Dean…?"

"Do me."

"What?"

"Cas, I'm ready – I'm ready like fucking _yesterday_, like a _century _ago!"

"Tonight?" Cas's eyes were the size of saucers. It was so amusing that Dean couldn't help but grin.

_He_ had that effect on Castiel, no one else. Michael, he had always looked so calm and collected in everything they had done – but this was Castiel and even if he wasn't exceptional at baring his soul, there were still those times where he reacted comically.

Like now.

He swallowed thickly and Dean followed the bob of his adams apple. "Right now?" Cas asked again.

He hadn't acted like this the last time they had tried to have sex, but, then again, that had been awhile ago. That had been before they had realized just how much being with Michael had screwed him up. Now it was time for round two and maybe they were both a little nervous.

It was kind of like being a virgin all over again and Dean couldn't even remember that time in his life when he wasn't sexually active.

"Yeah, Cas, right now sounds like a good time, don't you think?"

"… Like this?"

"Hell yeah!" He rolled his abdominal muscles and that caused some delicious friction between them. "I want what you've got, baby, I want it in me, I want you on top of me… Watching me watching you…"

He was having so much fun with this. Michael hadn't appreciated dirty talk, he had appreciated submission and silence. He had wanted everything done _perfectly_.

With Cas, nothing had to be perfect. Neither of them _wanted_ it to be perfection. Cas would be happy with weird and Dean would be happy with anything as long as he had his newly formed, quirky family.

Besides, Cas so definitely loved it. Even if he did choke on his spit and give Dean a "what the _Hell_ are you saying" look.

"You wanna make love? Put your love in me and I'll scream for you, I'll rock your fucking world – and you're going to adore me just for what I'll make you feel…"

"Oh, Dean," Cas groaned, and Dean was proud to feel a shudder run through him, "I already adore you. I love you, _Dean_…"

He smiled and kissed Cas soundly. "I love you too, baby. Now do us both a favor and pop my cherry, would ya?"

"Cherry…? _Oh_."

"Yeah, Cas. Oh."

That was the breaking point for Cas, he guessed.

It was like a waterfall coming over him, everywhere, unstoppable. Hands were up his shirt, one up his sleeve, and Cas was grinding back down into him. Lips were on lips and that was… surprisingly gentle, compared to the animalistic pawing going on between them. Tongues were inquisitive between soft mouths and their mouths came together and apart with little gasps as fingers encountered sensitive spots and nether regions found a good pace.

"Dean…"

"Y-yeah?"

"Why are you wearing _so many clothes_?" As if Dean had done it on purpose. Cas looked down at him with all the desperation of a man in the desert unable to get to water. "Please stop, Dean, it's not fun anymore."

He grabbed onto the lapels of Cas's trench coat – the same one from all those years ago. There was no getting rid of it. "That goes both ways, baby." He leaned up till his teeth nipped at the officer's ear lobe. "Tell you what… You strip me and I'll strip you, fair?"

"I couldn't imagine a fairer way."

"Good."

But it was obviously unfair. They tumbled across the bed, trying to get each other naked, and it became a race to the finish line. Dean was down a shirt and Cas was half-naked.

Somehow, though, Cas still won and Dean was left looking owlishly down at his own nude body. "How did you _do_ that?"

Cas gave him one of those rare deviant smirks that made Dean want to beg. "I have skill."

"So do I, but you're still not naked."

"You should remedy that." Which Dean did. Immediately.

They rolled another time and Dean was on top, thighs spread over Cas's waist, and the officer still had a hand over his shoulder, fitting perfectly over the handprint-shaped tattoo. Like they were one and the same.

Dean stared down at Cas, at his _lover_, and he didn't know what to do first. He had all this _freedom_ and the vantage point and… it was exciting. _Fuck_, but it was an adrenaline kick throughout his whole system.

He reached behind him and petted Cas's half-hard length. "Do you want me, baby?" He rolled his tongue over his lips, grinning as Cas followed the motion with hungry eyes. "Do you want me here, on you, around you? You wanna be in me?"

Cas's hands were bruising his hips. That was a good kind of pain, though. "Yes, Dean, I want to be in you, so very much…" His hips bucked into Dean's hand.

Dean pressed a kiss to Cas's chest. "How bad?" He nipped one nipple and the officer's breath hitched in his chest. Dean traced his ribs with his tongue, wriggling down his body as he went. Cas's cock slid along the seam of his ass before caressing his inner thigh. "Tell me, Cas."

His hands were shaking. Dean's hands were _shaking_.

Castiel met his eyes with all the love that he could possibly ever need or want, more than he knew existed for him. He was alive and fiery and that was – Dean wanted that. Simple and to the point. "More than anything, Dean. Don't you know that?"

He ducked his head, humbled.

He couldn't think of anything to say to that, so he kept following an invisible trail down Castiel's torso. He stopped at the ridge of one hip, one of Cas's hands over his tattoo and the other petting his hair. "Where do you want my mouth, Cas?"

Cas swallowed thickly. "You know where."

"Yeah, but I want you to say it. Have you ever heard yourself say it? You get low and husky and _dark_ and it's fucking sexy. Say it." He pressed a kiss at the junction between his hips, dangerously close to where they both want him to be, and leered. "Say it, baby."

"My cock… Dean, please, put your mouth on my cock."

Even Dean had to blush. Cas's voice was so damn hot…

And, well, when Cas asked like _that_, who was he to say no?

They both moaned as Dean wrapped his lips around his lover, sliding slowly down. As he slid back up, he teased his tongue along the head. Slipping back down, he hummed and constricted his throat. Just a few minutes of this and Cas was weeping pre-cum into his mouth, shaking beneath him, and that power was more a high than anything else in the world.

"D-Dean… no more…" Cas wrapped a hand around his jaw and pulled him off his erection.

Dean's lips were bruised and red, a salty trail of pre-cum leaking from the side of his mouth. His pupils were blown wide with lust and he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, wanting to taste more of Cas. "Cas…" his voice was hoarser than before and cracked. "I need you."

"I need you too."

Wasn't that sweet? Once upon a time, that had been the kind of sweet Dean hadn't liked, but he'd been deprived of this kind of sweet for too long. And for Cas, with that voice, with that look on his face, it was just right.

Cas rolled them over again (were they still fighting? Dean sure as Hell hoped not) and reached for the bedside drawer. He pulled out some KY and smeared it evenly over two fingers. Dean spread his legs and wrapped his arms beneath his knees, opening himself up.

He did it just to see Cas's nose turn red as Rudolph's. His eyes got wide again and they were nearly black with want. He was focused intently on Dean's entrance. "Dean…" He licked his lips and shuffled closer, between Dean's legs. "What an offer you make."

"You gonna take it or leave it?"

Cas massaged one butt cheek and rubbed his other finger against the small puckered hole. "Take it. I'm going to… I want to take it." He was breathing hard.

Dean was too.

One finger slid in with not too much difficulty. It was slightly awkward, though, and Dean closed his eyes on the vaguely familiar sensation.

"Don't do that, Dean. You said you wanted to watch me watch you. Watch."

He obeyed – and he obeyed _because he wanted to_. He wanted to watch.

He watched Cas's arm flex, his torso glisten with sweat, chest swell and deflate with every breath and heartbeat. The officer's other hand relocated to his shoulder, over his handprint, and Dean whined low in his throat as, in the exact same moment, Cas struck his prostate with that one inquisitive finger. His eyes were so damn deep, so very blue, and Dean could remember the first time he saw them.

They were so different now… his were too, he guessed. Cas was staring at him differently at least, less with a dull pain and more with passion. That was great, that was the whipped cream on his _pie_.

He let his legs go to fall on Cas's shoulders. Hands free, he weaved his fingers through Cas's and the other clenched into Castiel's thigh. "Cas…"

Another finger and they scissored inside of him.

Castiel nearly bent him in half getting a kiss.

A third finger.

Dean groaned and his eyebrows furrowed. That felt… good and bad. Cas was slicked up enough to take away the edge of pain, but there was discomfort. Then Cas hit his prostate again and the world was right in every way possible.

He gasped into Cas's mouth and bucked back onto his hand. His belly clenched and crescent-shaped scratches formed on the officer's thigh. His hand was white-knuckled in Cas's hand. "Cas… Want you now."

"Dean?" So many questions were put into his name. _"Are you sure?" "Are you ready?" "Are _we_ ready?" "Do you really want this?" "Do you really want _me_?"_

"Want you in me, Cas… Want it so damn bad, I'll die if you don't fuck me now."

"Dean…"

"_Make love to me_. Is that better?" Dean laced his fingers behind Cas's head, holding them close. "Now? Cas, _you_."

Their eyes clung to each other as Cas slipped his fingers free and slicked up his length. His other hand was on Dean's hip, holding gently.

The crown of Castiel's cock pressed against his entrance, not entering yet but close. Castiel pressed a kiss to his eyelids, the tip of his nose, his mouth. Tongues battled. "I love you," he whispered, right before he began pushing.

Dean groaned. "Love you… Love ya too…" He clawed at Cas's shoulders, throwing his head back as the officer filled him fully. "_Fuck_, Cas!"

They panted as Cas paused, so hot and hard inside of Dean it _hurt_ and in the best way imaginable. "Cas, you gotta move… You've gotta… Cas?"

Castiel stared down at him with more than love. "I'm inside of you…"

He mustered up a grin with all the shaky nerves he could gather. "Yeah, you are."

"God, Dean, you feel amazing."

He rolled his hips and they both gasped. "G-good to know."

"And now…" Cas looked at him with his half-smirk, half-deviant leer. "Now I'm going to make you scream, just like you want me to."

They kissed long and deeply. "That's what I want to hear, baby."

~::~

The door slammed open and shut. From his position in the kitchen, drinking beer half-naked, Dean could hear his brother and Gabriel arguing – or, well, Sammy arguing and Gabriel defending his case.

He went tense as a deer caught in the headlights and looked down at his unwashed self. _Fuck_!

"I didn't know you were serious!" Sam hissed.

"Why wouldn't I be? I was serious the last time I stepped into your office, why not this time?" Gabriel, on the other end of the spectrum, sounded too damned happy with himself.

Dean took a long swallow of his alcohol. The voices were getting closer and the only way of escape was past them. This was going to get ugly.

"Oh, I don't know, _Gabriel_, because I was having a video conference this time?" Dean could only imagine Sam's bitchface.

"Who has a video conference at two in the morning, kiddo? Honestly?"

"I do! What's _your_ excuse for doing… doing _that_?"

"That dude was totally hitting on you."

He heard Sam snort. "_That's_ your reason? He lives all the way in Scotland, for crying out –" Sam stepped into the kitchen and Dean hesitantly waved his bottle in greeting. The younger brother flushed darkly. "Uh, Dean…" His gaze flickered everywhere but at him. "I see that, um, everything's good between you and, er, Cas…"

The hickeys were one thing, he was sure. The bruises that were just barely showing above the waist of his jeans were another – and he could only imagine how his face looked, all bruised lips and dreary eyes. But then there was the fact he hadn't even rinsed off after everything with Cas.

There was a trail of dry white cum halfway around his belly button and, quite frankly, he smelled like sex.

He glared at his beer. He was never going to live this down. But, for whatever reason, he had kind of assumed that they wouldn't be coming back tonight. He wasn't sure where else they would go, but, _damn it_, that's why he shouldn't assume.

Gabriel slithered in around Sam and perched himself against his lover. "Don't you look like you've been having fun tonight~ and I thought you two would never get down and dirty."

Dean glared at him. "Shut up."

"Uh, Dean…" Sam was looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "Are you okay?"

He thought about it. Usually, he'd just say he was "okay", even when he was at his worst, but… "Yeah, I am." He offered a tired smile. "I'm great, I'm peachy."

He actually was too. He was down here drinking, thinking about the Master he had once had and the man he had now, but he wasn't doing badly. He was comparing these two guys in his head, the one who used him and the one that loved him.

Cas was definitely winning out.

"Then what are ya doing down here with lover boy… not with you?" Gabriel pointed out lightly.

He shrugged. "Thinking."

"… About?" Sam prompted.

Dean glared at him. "Does it matter?"

"Yes," Sam and Gabriel said together.

Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam gave the smirking Gabe his best bitchface.

"Listen, guys, I'm fine, really."

"I don't know, Dean…" Sam furrowed his eyebrows at him. "You seem a little off."

"I just had full on sex for the first time in three years, so, yeah, I'm a little off." Wait, that wasn't the way to go about this, was it? He rubbed his face. "Sammy, trust me on this. I'm really okay."

He was just restless. Michael and Cas were chasing each other through his head. But he was _honest to God_ happy.

"Yeah, Sammy, trust him on this." Gabriel caught Sam by his waist and spun him around, giving him a quick kiss. "Let's have table-sex. We haven't done that in _months_."

Dean cursed and leaped away from the kitchen table. "Dude! I did _not_ want to know that!"

"Then go see your Cassy and leave me to molest your brother!"

Sam flushed red again.

Dean paled white as a ghost. _Then_ turned red. "I did _not_ need to hear that!" He stalked away from them and stormed up the stairs back to his and Cas's bedroom. "Keep it down, why don't you?" He shouted back to them.

He heard them bicker before he slammed his door shut behind him.

"Dean…?" Cas sat up in bed, the blankets pooling around his waist. He looked curiously to his side then back up at him. "Where were you?"

He looked so sexed out and bleary that Dean's heart gave a needy tug. Without really thinking about it, he dove into bed and crawled up into Cas's lap. The officer wrapped an arm around his waist and held him firmly and Dean slid the jean-covered cleft of his ass over the limp member beneath the blanket.

"Just downstairs, drinking a beer."

"Mm… You should have woken me up, I would have joined you…" Dean gave him a hard look and he stared innocently back at him. "With juice, Dean."

"Damn straight with juice."

Cas pressed a kiss to his collarbone.

Beneath them, the sounds of – and Dean shuddered in horror – table-sex could be heard.

Apparently, they had made up. A part of Dean wished they had just kept fighting. A larger part of him was just happy that it didn't come to shouting.

"Couldn't sleep?" Cas asked.

He shook his head and smirked. "You should really help me out with that." He rolled his hips and Castiel let loose a tired groan. Dean bit his bottom lip. "Need to tire me out, baby."

They grinned at each other as Cas rolled them over. The blanket flowed off of him and, _wow_, Dean was coming out on top now! He at least was still wearing his jeans.

Cas noticed it too. "Always the clothes with you… Why, Dean, why? Is this punishment for something?"

"Hell yeah!" He arched his hips off the bed so Cas could strip him. "It's punishment for not doing this to me sooner." He kept his tone light, though, so Cas wouldn't take him seriously.

Sooner might have been good – just as good. But no way in _fuck_ would it have been better.

Cas rubbed his fingers into the stains on Dean's abdomen. Down below, Sam cried out and Cas's eyes flickered with realization. "Dean, did they see you like this?"

He turned dark red. "Shut up and do me."

They kissed again, longer this time. "My pleasure."

_Author's Notes: This doesn't seem like the right way to end it, but I have no clue how to. There might, might not be one more chapter. I feel like there should be more…_


End file.
